Armstrong Family Technique
by tir-synni
Summary: Mangaverse: Realizing how stressed young Fullmetal is, Armstrong does his best to help Edward relax. ArmstrongEd . . . kinda.


Title: Armstrong Family Technique  
Pairing: Armstrong/Ed (kinda)  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Manga Spoilers

For some reason, this train ride seemed longer than usual to Edward Elric. Perhaps it was loneliness. Rarely was he ever separated from Alphonse for a prolonged period. Even before the incident, the two had been inseparable. Afterwards, they had been almost literally attached at the hip. Or perhaps it was exhaustion. The unbelievable desert heat combined with the discoveries made on this trip had drained him. The metal of his automail limbs still steamed a little, making the flesh attached burn. And what he had discovered about Ross . . . the symbols . . . Scar. . . .

Or perhaps it was simply the sparkling man sitting across from him.

"Your courage is always an inspiration, Edward Elric!" Alex Louis Armstrong boomed. Ed swore some of those sparkles had gone plaid. "You braved the desert, willingly stood by your comrades–"

"You kidnaped me," Edward pointed out, but it was under his breath. He was too tired and worn to argue with Armstrong concerning his supposed "virtues."

"–and how you, against all odds, continue with your quest," Armstrong went on. "I admire you for that."

The large man would have continued, but Ed's soft sigh silenced him better than any of Ed's words. He paused, brow furrowed, as Edward leaned on his elbow and stared out the window. Ed carefully held his automail arm away from his body.

"Edward," Armstrong inquired, his voice incongruously soft, "are you all right? Is your arm still bothering you?"

Ed smiled weakly at him. "I'm fine. And my arm has mostly cooled down. Just tired, that's all."

When Edward had first noticed the odd sharpness of Armstrong's eyes, he had naively told himself that he was imagining things. It contrasted with everything he thought he knew about the man. Now, however, Ed knew better and thus knew enough to avoid that piercing gaze.

"You are a good dog of the military, Edward," Armstrong said softly, leaning forward. Unconsciously, Ed leaned back. Armstrong's admittedly impressive girth was overpowering. "You selflessly serve the people, and you do much to aid Colonel Mustang."

Edward's flesh hand clenched. _You don't know shit!_ he wanted to snap. _Everything I've done has been for my own quest, no one else's_!

For some reason, his lips refused to move. Instead, Ed focused hard on the scenery.

One large hand rested on his flesh knee, and Ed tensed. If Armstrong's presence was overpowering, his touch was overwhelming. Edward pressed back against the seat. Even through the layers of cloth, he could still feel the heat of the man's palm, the callouses on his fingers. He imagined he could even feel Armstrong's heartbeat through his hand. It was amazing how much could be felt through a simple touch, so different from Alphonse's cold, metal hands. The surprisingly gentle touch from this giant of a man burned his knee.

For some reason, tears taunted his eyes for a moment. As usual, the sensation quickly faded. He blamed it on weariness.

"This has been a stressful time for you, Edward Elric," Armstrong murmured. "Rest. I will watch over your sleep."

You're not Al! That's Al's job!

Sometimes, Ed wanted to scream. This was one of those times.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, never looking away from the window. The grip on his knee tightened.

"No, you are not, young man," Armstrong stated. He fell silent, his hand receding, and for a moment, Ed allowed himself to relax.

He berated himself for that less than a second later.

"I, Alex Louis Armstrong," Armstrong boomed, leaping to his feet, "shall demonstrate the relaxation technique handed down from generation to generation of Armstrongs!"

_Where did his shirt go?_ Edward wondered dizzily, shielding his eyes. _And dammit, where the hell are the sparkles coming from?_

Snapping himself out of his daze, Edward dived for the door, but Armstrong was quicker. Armstrong quickly grabbed the back of his shirt and plopped the youth onto his stomach on his seat. Easily ignoring Ed's yelps, he grabbed Edward's shoulders–

And began to massage.

Edward melted.

"Massaging is an art," Armstrong declared, digging sure fingers into tense muscles. Involuntarily, Edward groaned, spikes of pleasure/pain lancing through his back and neck. This was better than a hot bath or a large meal. This was better than the rush of adrenaline caused by alchemy. This felt so damned good . . . too damned good. . . . Edward mewled, uncaring of how it sounded. "The Armstrong family has perfected this technique over–"

Ed stopped listening, too busy becoming one with the seat. The only thing he had received even _resembling_ a massage to his recollection was Granny and Winry working with the muscles in his shoulder for his automail.

"Oooohhe moaned faintly. Armstrong drove his fingers and palms into his shoulderblades, and Ed arched. "Oh, yes!"

Ed was vaguely aware of Armstrong still talking, but he was distracted by the sudden pain in the right side of his back. It only made the deep, spreading warmth that followed so much better. He panted thickly into the leather seat.

Armstrong's hands moved lower, and Edward cried out into the seat as the man began stroking his lower back. He kicked the wall of the train, lost in pleasure as Armstrong's fingers dug deep. Edward was so aware of his bones and muscles melting that he barely noticed how other parts had hardened.

_Ah, yes_, he thought deliriously. _Ah, yes!_

For once, the muscles supporting his automail arm didn't hurt. For once, his bowed shoulders felt relaxed and free. For once, his body provided pleasure instead of pain.

Oh must teach Alphonse thisthisthis holy fuck lower harder oh fuck–

Edward mewled and feebly arched into those talented fingers. The movement ground his groin into the seat, and the sharp flash of pleasure made him cry out again.

"Good!" Armstrong's pleased voice drifted in for a moment. "You're enjoying–"

Immediately, Edward ignored him again, all focus concentrated elsewhere. Every rub of Armstrong's hands increased the glorious ache, and he whimpered, rubbing against the seat. Oh, that felt so good, so nice! Moremoremoremore–

. . . perfected technique . . . .oh yes . . . believer. . . .

Armstrong ground his knuckles into Edward's spine, and something hot and tight within Edward exploded. He groaned, thrust once, twice, thrice, then collapsed limply into the train seat.

Sparkling anew, Armstrong stared with pride at the now sleeping alchemist. "The Armstrong Family Relaxation Technique works every time!"


End file.
